


Sweet Architect

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: After a close encounter with death, the only person Iris wants to see is Barry. Hurt/Comfort. Set in early Season 4.





	1. Chapter 1

"Hold still."

She squirms as he applies ointment to the cut on her forehead, her eyes wincing at the cold contact of the medicine. Barry's close enough to warm her up, and it helps, the heat from his body keeping her shivers calm as she grips tightly to the fabric of the sofa.

She  _ hates  _ this.

Not so much him taking care of her, but that she needs to be taken care of because she wasn't careful, because she wasn't able to keep herself safe like she should've done. 

At a pitch black factory with big men and guns, Iris couldn't have expected her investigating -  _ alone  _ \- to lead to any good, but she didn't think it'd end with her running out after two bullets came her way, one missing her, the other scraping the top of her head, so close to killing her, so close to ending her life in a moment.

Luckily the dark gave her the advantage of running away unnoticed, which lead her here, to Barry's apartment -- she's been reluctant to call it  _ their  _ apartment for some time now -- after just escaping death, because the only person on her mind was him.

"Iris," he whispers, firmly tilting her chin up, "you can't lean forward. You have to keep your head up."

His words are short and concise, there's no play in them, no gentle, no tender, and she knows it's because this was the case he warned her to stay away from, only for her not to listen, and she knows he's irritated she didn't tell him she was going there alone tonight, because he would've probably helped her, even though he would've probably tried to talk her out of it for hours before finally giving in. She knows she should've warned him, that it's not fair to just knock on his door with a severely bleeding forehead and an anxious, scared body, shaking, hugging him and clinging to him like her only lifeline.

"Don't cry."

She blinks several times, realizing there are tears falling down her eyes as they splatter on the fabric of her thighs. She's still shaking, still feels her hands unsteady and the adrenaline pumping inside of her, her nerves tingling everywhere. She doesn't know how this is supposed to go, when the calm is supposed to hit, when it's supposed to feel safe, because right now she doesn't feel safe. She still feels like she's at the factory. She still hears the gun go off. She still feels the air escape her lungs. 

"Hey."

Barry's voice lets the goosebumps come to fruition, not intentionally, but it still happens. She watches as he kneels down to the ground so that his eyes are leveled with hers, so that he's not standing over her anymore.

Gently, he brings his hand to her face and rubs the skin of her cheek with the pad of his finger, ever so softly, like he's hesitant, like he's worried, like he's trying to calm her when he himself is shaking.

"You're safe," he whispers.

She nods.

"They can't hurt you here."

Another nod.

He opens his mouth to say something. But then he adamantly shuts it again.

_ You should've told me? _

_ What were you thinking? _

_ How can you be so reckless? _

All good questions, all possible candidates for what he could've asked but didn't, for what he can still ask, and for what she'd expect him to ask.

After all, she was the one seeking solace in the comfort of his...their home, she was the one who came running to him.

Barry stares at her with piercing green eyes.

And then;

"I'm glad you came."

She exhales.

And the tears roll down her cheeks, landing in the creases of his hands.

Of everything he could've said, of all the ways he could've reprimanded her, he instead pulls her to his chest and holds her tight, through the shakes and the sobs, through the sting of the cut on her forehead, through the goosebumps on her arms; he just holds her till she pulls away.

"I should've told you."

Barry shrugs, his eyes displaying a crinkle.  "I should've expected it," he says with a laugh. "Do you feel okay?"

Iris nods again. "Better than an hour ago."

"Good."

There's an unspoken softness between them. It's been this way for weeks, for a while, maybe, she doesn't know. But she can feel it now, can feel the tension in the softness, can hear it in the silence. She wants to ask him about it, if he feels it too. And he must, right? He must feel this too, this electricity between them, pulling them towards each other, like how now, he hand is still on her thigh and how his other hand is in her hair, and how her eyes can't find any other focus but him, and... yeah. There's something here.

And she's the one to blame for the distance that’s been separating them. She's the one who took a temporary break from their engagement, after he left her for 6 months. She's the one who broke down when he first kissed her, at their first reunion, and then decided to run away from the feelings that hit her next, decided that dealing with him leaving her  _ again,  _ for the third time, was too much to handle.

“Uhm.” Her voice shakes as she catches her breath. Slowly, Iris pulls him up to the couch with her, lacing their hands together in the process. “I’m still getting used to it.”

Barry raises his eyebrows.

She furrows her’s.

The thing about his absence was that she didn’t have to “report” to anyone anymore. She was Team Leader, which meant she ran everything; it went through her. It also meant her investigations were decided by her, not by her dad, not by Cisco, not by Wally...and not by Barry. Because he wasn’t there anymore. She didn’t have him to come home to at night and tell him about what happened. He wasn’t visiting her during the day, telling her  _ be careful, Iris.  _ It was just her.

So talking...it’s hard to do now. Especially since she rarely did that anymore. She ran. 

She didn’t talk.

But here he was looking at her with curious eyes, and an explanation was probably something he deserved.

“You were gone. For six months.”

Barry nods.

“And during those six months, I was sleeping alone, eating alone, running alone..” she meets his eyes. “I was alone. So doing things like this, like tonight, that was just normal.”

Barry’s thumb grazes the outside of her knuckles. He doesn’t speak, and she's strangely relieved he’s letting her finish. 

“You care about me...and you worry about me.”

He nods again. “I love you.”

Iris inhales sharply. She knows this. But it’s the first time he’s said it since she gave him back the ring, a few weeks ago. And this is a little new as well.

Their knees bump together, and she notices Barry scooting closer to her. The intimacy, the closeness between them, it’s a little unfamiliar right now. But it makes her feel all that much more safe; he never stopped being her solace, even in the months that he was away. But she couldn’t remember how he felt,  _ didn’t want to _ remember. Memories were hard when there was the daunting possibility that he would never come back home, never come back to her. 

Still, here he was now.

“You love me,” Iris confirms. “But part of me just got used to doing everything alone, just got used to you not being here.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head.

“No,” Barry stops her before she can speak, “I am sorry, you deserve to hear this.”

He’s told her before, he doesn’t have to tell her again. Another part of her hates apologies these days, reasons that everyone can hurt her and she’ll forgive them as long as they apologize, and she’s trying to do that less.

“I’m sorry I didn’t even ask..I’m sorry I didn’t realize how much that would hurt you..I’m sorry I made the decision and left you to pick up the pieces of it.”

“I know you did what you needed to...I just wish you let me in.”

Barry smiles sadly. “I wanted to be your hero.”

“I wanted you to be my husband, Bear,” she counters, her own smile turning sad.

_ Everything I do is for you. _

How can she forget what he told her. How can she forget how in tune they used to be. 

Maybe it was her fault. She told him so many times that the city needed him to be a hero, that the city couldn’t lose the Flash. Maybe he was so used to her selflessness that he forgot what it was like seeing her selfish. Maybe he thought she’d be proud of him, she’d want him to save the city again, to be the hero she named him to be.

And the nagging feeling that if she’d just fought a little harder for him to stay, if she just asked him to stay, he would’ve comes back. Maybe these six months could’ve been avoided if she just asked.

But maybe they could’ve been avoided if he’d just asked as well.

“Maybe we both thought that we knew what the other person wanted,” he says, the last word’s tone inflecting, sounding like a question. “Maybe the problem was we didn’t talk to each other.”

Iris pauses for a second.

She wants to have this talk, it’s time that they did. 

It’s been almost 7 months since they’ve properly spoken, and she knows both of them deserve closure, both of them deserve figuring things out between them.

But the cut on her head prevents her from saying anything else, its sting sharp and angry, and she feels the blood drip on her pants the same time that a dizzy feeling overtakes her.

“Iris?” Barry asks, the silence too long.

“Iris?” He asks again. “Maybe we should go to the hospital?”

She shakes her head. Hospitals are sinister and she refuses to step foot in them. Full stop. No modifier.

“I’m okay.”

“Do you need some water?” He frantically stands up, but she shakes her head again. 

“I’m okay,” Iris repeats.

“You’re bleeding.” Barry worries, immediately reaching for the gauze and the First Aid kit.

“Barry..”

“We need to go to the hospital.”

Before he stands up again, Iris reaches out to him and firmly plants him on the couch next to her. “I am okay.”

“You’re bleeding! And you’re dizzy! Something could be happening! It’s better safe than sorry.”

“Bear,” Iris argues, “I’m fine, I know my own body.”

It’s happened before, she's had plenty of close calls where she’s greeted death with a smile, only to be saved from it by the grace of luck. This is nothing, it’s just a little bit of blood, just a little bruise. She's okay. But she’s also tired and it’s late and the headache isn’t helping and really, all she wants to do is fall asleep.

Preferably in his arms, because there’s really nowhere else she wants to go for the rest of the night, nowhere else than  _ their  _ home, wrapped up in his arms.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” she asks shyly.

Barry glances up at her, his eyes distracted momentarily from patching up the cut on her forehead. His hands still. 

“You’re asking?”

She nods. “It  _ is _ your home.”

“Iris…” his voice is filled with disbelief. “It’s  _ our _ home. It has both of our names on it.”

“Yeah but I haven’t -”

“- been sleeping here for a while, I know. It’s still our home. I didn’t sleep here for six months and you never said it was only yours.”

She looks down, her eyes focusing on a stain on his jeans. He really needs to stop being so clumsy with food, fast metabolism or not.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he whispers. “I know you’re not used to it...but just tonight.”

A small smile quirks up the edge of her lips and she can’t help but feel a sense of happiness when she sees the hope in his eyes and hears it in her voice.

One night of them being together sounds like a dream too good to pass up, even with everything they still need to work through.

She nods her head in agreement. “Okay,” she adds, just in case he needs the extra confirmation, just in case  _ she  _ needs to hear it as well.

Barry stands and extends a hand to her, which she takes. Slowly, he walks them to their bedroom. It looks exactly the same since she’d last seen it. She hasn’t slept in here in almost seven months, the feeling of even stepping foot in it being surreal.

She turns to Barry.

He turns to face her.

“I tried sleeping in here once without you,” he admits, “it sucked.”

Iris lets out a laugh. “Ditto.”

“Maybe we’re only meant to sleep in here if we’re together.”

She leans into him, letting go of his hand, and placing both of hers firmly on his chest. Barry quickly brings his hands to the small of her back, and it feels so familiar, this part of it, the same quirk that he always does, almost like a visceral reaction.

His lips look red and inviting, and her head stops spinning just enough for her to lean up and place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

When she steps back down off her tippy toes, she sees Barry’s eyes reluctantly open.

But then they close again.

And in no time, his lips are back on hers, and her hands are on the nape of his neck, playing with the brown locks of his hair, and his hands are roaming her body as if he’s never touched her before, as if this is the last night they have together on the planet, something definitely not unfamiliar, given the same experience they had seven months ago, when she thought she would die, when he insisted he would save her.

Still, Iris can’t keep the thoughts coherent enough, because his kisses are bruising, they’re coming everywhere, to her lips, to her cheeks, to her jaw, to the skin of her chest and collarbone, and she feels herself going weak in the knees, the aura of Barry too strong for her to handle, so she lets him do the work, lets him speed off their clothes, gentle not to agonize the cut on her forehead and the bruises on her body, and plants them gently in bed, her under him, him covering her, their legs tangling, their bodies indiscernible from each other. 

“I missed you,  _ Iris. _ ”

She shudders at the sound of her name coming from his lips. That’s what she missed the most, the way he says her name. No one and nothing makes her as safe as that...as safe as she feels when her name rolls off his tongue.

She brings him back down to her. They’ll talk. Maybe in the morning. But tonight, she just wants to be with him.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

At the peak of the night, Iris's eyes open wide. It isn't the drowsy, slow, tired waking up, it's more like a sharp pain that jolts her out of her night slumbers.

Her pupils race back and forth, adjusting to the dark of the room; she can't quite pinpoint why she feels cold and anxious all of a sudden. She thinks she had a nightmare, probably did given the circumstances now, but she's weary of dreams and reality all together. For a while, she didn't know which was what. Losing Barry was a reality and losing Barry was a nightmare, and her solace on the couch, outside of this bedroom was a way to navigate at least part of that.

The pillow under her head feels wet. There's a heavy arm wrapped around her and slow breaths falling on the side of her neck. She feels enveloped, but not in warmth, it's more like a trap, a grip she can't escape, a grip she wants to run away from, but it holds her too tight.

That's what happens, she reflects, that's what happens when familiar territory becomes uncharted and a room that felt like home feels like an alleyway in the middle of the danger zone.

An overpowering need to stand overwhelms her and she quickly reaches for his hand, Barry's hand, the hand that's lying draped around her belly, with her own hand tucked safely underneath it. When she goes to pull it off, to begin her bolt to the door, to run away again, his lips gently find her cheek.

She stills.

"I've got you," comes his voice, small like the light from the moon spilling into their bedroom through the curtains, small enough to forget, small enough to ignore...but big enough to calm her pounding heart.

Barry lifts his head and in the dark, she can make out the soft greens of his eyes. The freckles, she can't see, but she remembers them enough to know where they are, can draw a map to connect them in the shape of his name. She has him memorized, can recite his features for decades; if she never sees him again, she'd still know every curve and every line on his body, would still be able to paint his smile on the air.

"Iris."

Slowly, his lips descend upon hers. For a second, she doesn't kiss him back. It's not a real kiss anyway; he's only kissing the corner of her mouth, and she doesn't know whether that's intentional. But then he delicately moves from behind her and lets her back fall to the mattress. His own head falls to her chest, and he places one more kiss in between her breasts. One of his hands slides to the middle of her belly, and when he massages the curves of it, she doesn't feel so cold anymore. 

She falls asleep like that. After she kisses his head, she falls asleep with their hands interlaced and his head on her heart.

When her eyes open again, presumably a few hours later, the sun a giveaway to the time of day, she doesn't see him next to her.

The bed's empty.

Her head feels foggy.

The events of last night slowly make their way back to her.

She remembers coming to see Barry, and letting Barry take care of her, and falling asleep with Barry, after kissing Barry and hugging Barry and touching Barry...

She remembers a whole lot of Barry. The rest of the details are a bit too far for her to reach, seem irrelevant when her mind only thinks about him.

The cut on her head stings, still, and she thinks it'll do that for some time before its harsh red goes away. But it's okay, it could've been much worse, this she knows. A mean cut is a fair price to pay to keep her life.

Iris looks around the bedroom for a few seconds.

Vividly, she can see a past version of her and Barry, one month after moving in, finally deciding it was time to unpack the entire bedroom together. He decorated the living room, did a good job of it, but she told him she wanted to do the bedroom together, to make it their own, without the threat of death and sadness. So they did, repainted the walls as well. In the corner by the closet, she remembers him tickling her, and as retaliation, the paint on her brush found its way into his hair. That got a laugh out of him, and in turn, got her thrown on the bed, with him on top, kissing her and tickling her senseless, because how else were they supposed to get any work done? By taking a break for a few hours, just staring in each other, basking in this newfound happiness, and then - and only then - could they arrange their clothes in the closet and the drawers, could decorate the vanity with pictures they took together, could hang up hold souvenirs from old vacations and trips.

And maybe that's why she avoided it so much, avoided this room like her life depended on it. Because it was one of the only things that was truly theirs. 

In these six months, she's thought a lot about sacrifice. A lot about what it means to belong to each other, but belong to everyone else in the process. She knows he's a superhero. She knows he carries that with pride, knows it means the world to him to save whoever needs saving, to be what he needed when his mom was killed when he was younger. And she knows she's a journalist. She knows the heroics of a pen can reach much further than the fastest speedster, she knows people count on her to write what isn't said, to report what wants to be kept hidden.

Both of their jobs are public. Both of them are accessible. When people need them, they come. When people depend on them, they offer. When people call, they answer. No matter what. And it's an oath both of them took. 

_He's justice. Your truth._

So their bedroom...this one room in this giant house...the room, this bed, these sheets that are currently surrounding her, these pillows that are under her head, soft and fluffy and warm, this is where her and Barry are allowed to just be. To exist together, to breathe each other in, to see each other, without the feeling that all eyes are on them. This is where they are most intimate, where they laugh and they kiss and they love.

And this is where her favorite memories are from.

She loves this room when he's here.

She hates it when he's not.

And right now, she's almost back to resenting it, because Barry's side of the bed is half empty.

Iris pushes the sheets off her, letting her naked body be exposed to the outside air. On the ground, she finds the shirt he was wearing last night, still haphazardly tossed, all wrinkled and folded. She  _almost_ reaches for it.

Instead, she walks over to her drawer and pulls out an old high school shirt, one that's become too stretched out, but one that she's had longest than anything else. She drapes it over her body, along with some shorts, and makes her way to the door.

Before going out, she takes one last look at the shirt on the ground. And his shoes right next to it. She stares at their bed, scrunches her nose to keep the tears she already feels forming from falling on her cheeks.

When she makes her way to the bottom of the stairs, Iris finds Barry in the kitchen, sitting. She notices his phone right next to him. His shoulders are slumped and his hands are covering his eyes. She wonders why he left bed if all he was going to do was come down here alone, was to fall asleep on the kitchen table.

Slowly, her feet pull her to him and when she's standing over him, he rubs his eyes, before looking up at her.

"Iris!"

She smirks. "Morning."

Barry stands quickly. "Hi, hi." Immediately, he engulfs her in a hug, his hands laying solidly on her back, his chest pressed into hers, his head in the junction of her neck.

She breathes him in for a bit, and they stay, swaying in the hum of the morning. 

"Sorry."

Iris pulls away. She cocks her head.

"I was going to come back to bed," he explains, shaking his head, "I guess I just fell asleep here."

"Why'd you leave?"

The expression is face displays is one she knows; a mixture of guilt, embarrassment and sincerity. 

"I don't want to worry you, it's nothing. Your dad and Wally just called a few - well, a lot of times. I guess your phone's off."

"Ahh," she groans, "it died last night."

"Don't worry." Barry ushers her into the living room, towards the couch. He sits down and pulls her next to him, their kneecaps touching at the proximity. If this were a different time and the circumstances weren't as heavy as they were now, she'd probably be sitting in his lap. But...talk...they need to talk. This is okay, though. They'll get closer.

"How'd you sleep?"

She stares at him with a crinkle in her eyes. He looks better than she remembers seeing him early yesterday in STAR Labs. The bags under his eyes aren't so saggy, and his smile looks genuine, looks like he can finally lift it all the way up without anything making it fall. Would it be so wrong to take some of the credit for that? To know that she can have the same effect on him that he does on her? That she can light up his eyes and lift the weight off his shoulders in the same way that she used to, before their lives ever became this complicated.

 _The love between you two is the one thing that should stay simple_ , she remembers her father telling her, when she was doubting Barry, when she was doubting their love.

She did that a lot in the six months that he left. She didn't know why he did it, blamed herself for it sometimes. Maybe he wasn't happy, maybe he wanted to go, maybe this was his way of telling her what they had between them was over. Maybe Savitar really won in the end, after all, maybe that's why Barry became him in the future, because he didn't care about her anymore, because she didn't mean what she once meant to him.

So this is nice.

Seeing him smile  _because of her_ is nice. Reassuring, too. 

"Okay," she confirms. Slowly, her hand finds his cheek and she allows the pads of her fingers to gently graze the skin. He leans into her touch, like he always does. Some things between them never change.

"Just okay?" he hums.

"Would've slept better if I woke up next to you."

Ahh," he looks at her apologetically, "I promise I was coming back."

"I didn't know if you were."

"I promise," he takes her hands in his, "I just didn't want to wake you, you looked so calm sleeping and you had a nightmare earlier and I just wanted you to be safe."

"But you didn't come back," she repeats.

This wasn't about sleep, and she realizes the moment he figures it out. Again, his face falls and he shakes his head repeatedly. She wants to tell him it's okay, wants to tell him not to beat himself up, that he was just trying to protect everyone here, that he was being a hero. But the selfish part of her wants closure, wants to know, wants him to explain to her why he left, why he didn't come back, why it took him half a year to come home to her again.

He furrows his eyebrows. Minutes go by and she doesn't break their silence, gives him time to formulate his thoughts, decides that their touching kneecaps is enough for now.

When he looks at her again, his eyes are glossy and she sees the regret. "For what it's worth," he begins, "you're the only reason I was able to keep going."

She blinks.

"The Speedforce is a weird place, you know? It's like a personal hell when it wants to be, it really messes with you...it really messed with me."

The pain in his voice is too much to take, and like always, Iris has to be closer to him, has to remind him he's also safe, that he's not the only one who has to do the saving.

She quietly situates herself on his lap, and his hands don't miss a beat, the way they rest steady on her thighs, the way he tucks her into his chest.

"I couldn't leave it, didn't know how to really. But every time I almost gave up, every time I felt like I couldn't take it anymore, I heard your voice and saw your face.

It's like that place was taunting me...telling me I couldn't die, I couldn't have peace, reminding me of the person who matters most in the world to me, all while putting me through so much hurt and pain. I wanted to come back to you every single day, Iris, I wanted to come back. I just... _couldn't._ "

One of his tears lands on her cheek, and a hand comes to wipe it away. He caresses the place it just was, tilts her chin up so that she's looking at him. A lot of this is almost too hard for her to hear, let alone talk about. She wishes she could take away all of his troubles, wishes he would be the Barry he was when he didn't have his memories; that Barry was so much happier, so much lighter, had everything he wanted, had a life that was detached from everything bad that happened to the Barry she was with now. She wishes he would still be himself without his memories, knows that's not how life works, the psychologist in her scoffing at the idea the moment it emerges in her brain, but still. She can't help it.

"But I came back," Barry continues, never breaking their eye contact. "I came back the minute I heard your voice, the minute I heard you asking me to. I don't know how I knew it was really you, but I had to follow it, if only it were just a possibility, even if it wasn't real. And when I found you, I couldn't let you go."

"I know, Bear." They spent an entire day holding each other when he got out, until she couldn't deal with it anymore, until her own thoughts got the best of her. She couldn't stay, her heart wouldn't allow her to; it kept pounding out of her chest, it kept banging on her rib cage; it made her run, away from him, away from her best friend, from the love of her life, from the man she loved more than the world. She didn't want to hurt anymore. She didn't want any of it.

"It's just been so hard" - she hiccups out a sob, but continues nonetheless - "without you, it's been s-so hard."

"I'm sorry I left," he says, over and over again, while rocking her back and forth, while crying too, the tears falling onto her hair. He kisses her more times than she can remember, holds her so tight in the embrace of his arms, refuses to let go till the sobs subside, till both of them have dry eyes again.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you to stay," is all she manages, before leaning up to kiss him, much like she did last night.

Part of her is so tired. Part of her doesn't even want to talk about this, doesn't want to relive the past anymore. She's put it all behind her. Every day during those six months, she concluded the second the clock struck 12. She raced through them all, never really looking down at her own two feet, never telling herself to slow down, that none of it was healthy, that she couldn't just busy herself with her work, that this wasn't coping. But she didn't want any of it, she just wanted to feel some sense of control over her life, over what she still had left of it.

That's the thing about realizing death was an imminent threat; it stripped her of any control, it made her rethink everything she chose to do, whether it was focusing on her career or planning her wedding or seeing her friends. Everything became  _what's the point_. Everything became  _I won't be here much longer, anyway._ Everything became  _my dad needs to be okay, Wally needs to be okay, Barry needs to be okay_ , everything was about everyone around her, none of it was about her. Because it was too hard for it to be about her, too hard to reflect on a life she had not yet lived, too hard to consider everything she would miss, everything she still wanted to do but would never do.

And then she didn't die. But in a way, Barry did.

She gained her life, but lost him. There's something so bitter about that, so hard to swallow, and part of her just didn't want to think about any of it anymore.

Especially not when he was finally back, not when it felt like maybe things could be okay again.

"I missed you so much," she whispers, her eyes moving from his eyes to his lips and back up again. "I missed all of you."

He nods, lets her trace the freckles on his face, lets her explore his neck and jawline without saying a word. When her hand drops, he catches it and brings it to his lips. "I missed you," he says.

 "I've been lonely since the day you left," she admits. "I don't think it's hit me just how much."

"I'm always here."

"Maybe," Iris hums, a little sadly, "I just wish you were  _really_ here."

"I am now," he promises, "I am now. I'm here. I'm with you."

"It'll take some time...to adjust."

"I know."

"And we might have to figure some more things out before we get married." The inflection at the end of that sentence prompts a smile to form on his lips. 

"Yeah?"

"I still want to be Iris West-Allen."

He nods.

"It just might take some more time."

"Anything you need."

He kisses her again, lingering, brushing their noses together like he always does when they break apart. When he rests his forehead against hers, she asks, "you won't leave?"

"Cross my heart," comes his response.

And she knows he can't guarantee it. But he doesn't hesitate when he says it, doesn't hesitate when he leans in to kiss her again, when he kisses the cut on her forehead and the bruises on her arms, and she believes him, just like she believed him when he first came to live with her and her dad, just like she's always believed him, she believes him now as well. She'll put one foot in front of the other, she'll keep doing what she's been doing all her life. Except, she'll hold out her hand to him and hopefully, he'll be there with her, every step of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this came a bit later than expected. Midway through writing it, I remembered how disappointed I was with last season's storyline and just how much I came to resent this show, and in part, this ship. I haven't been writing much anymore, and a big part of that is because I can't swallow how they made a version of Barry kill Iris. It's hard to stomach, it fills me with anger thinking about it. That's why it's been so hard for me to write this fic, and how to write anything Westallen related without actively suppressing any connection it has to canon, aside from Candice and Grant's portrayal of it.  
> I struggled a lot finding some common ground here. I'm definitely biased in how I view the relationship; I always put Iris first, and because of how infrequently the show does it, I find myself almost putting her first at the expense of Barry. It's hard for me to even want to remotely sympathize with him, because too often, the show excuses his actions (the one that really got me was him breaking up with her...) and makes Iris so compassionate to his every need, with not enough reciprocity.  
> I probably won't be watching the next season. Maybe the Iris scenes, and I assume the Westallen scenes because those tend to take up the bulk of her screentime. I don't know if I'll ever resume writing for the ship the way that I used to, and I don't want to say this is where I stop writing for it forever, but this fic definitely took a lot out of me, and I'm not sure when the next one will come.  
> But again, thanks to everyone for leaving the very kind and encouraging comments. I hope the show will do justice to their reunion and I hope the writers salvage the mess they created in season 3.
> 
> Title and "I've been lonely since the day you left" taken from Emeli Sande's Sweet Architect :)


End file.
